Leeches
by Mazeem
Summary: Set after 2.02. Arthur doesn't know what's wrong with Merlin. Merlin knows what's wrong with Arthur but wishes that he didn't. Neglected! or Jealous!Merlin, preference according.


Thank you to **Lamanth**, who patiently put up with my neurotic questions when she agreed to read through this.

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"What's wrong with you?" Merlin asked as he folded Arthur's discarded clothes into a barely presentable pile, ready to be placed outside the door and collected by the laundry-maids. "You haven't said a word all evening." A rustle of bed linen told him that Arthur had just shrugged. Sighing, Merlin took the pile of sweaty, bloodstained clothes and dumped them unceremoniously in the corridor. Re-entering the room, he probed obtusely once more,

"It's not your wound, is it? If it is, I'm sure Gaius is still awake-"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Merlin blinked several times then rewound the conversation in his head until Arthur's comment made sense.

"Nothing's wrong with me," he protested - stifling a yawn as he did so. Arthur put on the look of amused skepticism that so often characterised conversation between them.

"You're exhausted. _Still_. I thought I told you to go get some rest after that fiasco with the horses?"

"Yeah, well, stuff got in the way. Like you shoving me in the cells."

Silence fell like a field of electricity; Merlin felt the hairs on his neck rise as he waited on Arthur's answer more eagerly than he would ever have let slip.

"You had straw, didn't you?" Arthur replied, looking away from Merlin and busying himself with sorting out the bedcovers to his satisfaction - which was just as well since Merlin found himself momentarily unable to control his facial expression. In the midst of his black disappointment however, he registered that Arthur's jibe had been wooden, lacking in its normal fiendish delight.

"There _is_ something wrong," he persisted, approaching the bed and leaning on his hands. "Look, just let me look at-"

"It's not the wound, all right?" Arthur said viciously, rolling over to show Merlin the neatly bandaged injury. Looking at Merlin properly for the first time, he squinted and frowned. "What on earth is that on your face?" Remembered panic sent Merlin scrabbling at his face, feeling several circular welts full of sticky just-clotted-ten-minutes-ago blood. He laughed weakly and gave,

"Leeches," by way of an explanation.

"Are _they_ what's wrong with you?"

"No! Sort of ... symbolic of it, but ... never mind." He laughed again - it was closer to a sigh, really, or maybe a snort. He was so tired that he felt sick but not so tired that the pictures (the lingering glances, the wistful tones, the _dinner_, for goodness' sake) would leave him be, would stop forming a bigger picture that made too much sense to bear. He blinked back to reality, aware that he had been lost in thought for slightly longer than was typical. Still, that was ok, judging by the matching embarrassment he saw colouring his face, so had Arthur.

He got to his feet and looked wildly around for something to do - suddenly he didn't want this conversation to go any further. As he stood there like a rabbit in the lamplight, Arthur grabbed his forearm and shook it firmly.

"If you won't tell me what's wrong, Merlin, then at least _act _like nothing's wrong!" Merlin looked at the grip Arthur had on his arm and, before Arthur could switch into the appropriate frame of mind to stop him, twisted his forearm around and up as hard as he could at the weakest point; Arthur's thumb. It worked but perhaps too well; he fought the urge to clasp the chafed limb. Arthur looked at him with blank shock and didn't bother replenishing the grip. Merlin stared back defiantly.

"Why do you always remember the most annoying things that I teach you, Merlin?" Arthur sighed, falling back onto the mattress with a soft thump and staring at the ceiling.

"Maybe it's because you're best at being annoying?" Merlin retorted without much thought. Arthur merely smirked. Merlin returned the smirk automatically and dithered next to the bed, no longer knowing what he wanted from Arthur tonight.

"Off you go, then."

Merlin's face twitched with shock.

"What?"

Arthur looked taken aback. "Well, you seemed desperate to leave a minute ago."

Merlin shrugged and forced a sickly grin onto his face. "Yeah, why would I want to stay in here all night?" He expected Arthur to smile again or roll his eyes, but instead his eyes dropped to the right guiltily and he didn't react to Merlin's tease. Panic bit at Merlin's tired mind again and he started to babble; "Not that there's anything wrong with the room, of course, gorgeous place, surprised you haven't already got rid of me so that you can go to sleep - " A thought struck him like a clumsy battering ram and his tongue stumbled. "D-do you want me to sleep in the antechamber?"

Arthur sighed and scratched absentmindedly at his bandage. "No, you can go back to Gaius tonight."

Something cold settled around Merlin's heart and extended its greedy claws.

"Yes, my lord," he answered hollowly and turned to walk away. As he reached the door, Arthur called to him,

"Do I snore, Merlin?"

Disbelieving, Merlin looked back over his shoulder. Arthur was still staring fiercely at the ceiling.

"Yes, sire," he answered with even more venom than he intended. "You really do."

He shut the chamber door behind him, so vindictively careful not to make a sound that it was nearly as satisfying as slamming it would have been.

_'Do you know how many times I've saved Arthur's life? I've lost count. And do I get any thanks?'_

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For those who don't know, the italicised bit is what Merlin says in his rant to Gaius. With added punctuation. XD

I don't know if this quite does what I want it to. What do _you_ think it's about?

Opinions welcome!

xMhax


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